Reveille, Reveille
by windscryer
Summary: Or Five Times Casey Woke Chuck Up and One Time He Let Him Sleep. Spoilers for all aired seasons. Gen.
1. In Castle

**Disclaimer:** I wish, but no. ;_;

Credit to Lu for demanding Chuck fic of any kind and then flailing all over it.

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><p>1.<p>

Casey knew they worked the kid hard. Bartowski wasn't exactly a guy who had worked out regularly for three or four (or more) hours a days before this whole thing started (unless you count thumbs, and, no, Casey doesn't.) A month wouldn't make that much difference, except to exhaust him while his body tried desperately to catch up and acclimate to the new demands being put upon it.

But that was no excuse for this: Falling asleep without even taking time to check that the security protocols are engaged would get him killed and the enemy wasn't going to take into consideration that he might be tired and come back later when he's awake. You wouldn't think that would be something they'd have had to explicitly drill into his head after the way he and Casey and Walker officially met on a rooftop with guns and all, but obviously it was.

Casey reached across the table and slapped the curly mop so that it jerked sharply to the side.

Bartowski came awake and to his unsteady feet in a half-assed attempt to reproduce a karate pose he had to have seen in the movies. No way he learned that ridiculously noodle-armed stance from Walker and until she had him schooled in the basics, Casey wasn't even allowed in the gym with him. Walker was afraid Bartowski would beg Casey to teach him something and Casey would end up breaking him instead.

Which was ridiculous. Bruise him, maybe, but the motto "Bruise now or bleed later," existed for a reason.

A thought struck Casey and he tested his theory by leaning forward and blowing in the kid's direction.

It surprised only Bartowski when he flailed and went backward, tripping over his own damn feet. Casey just grunted and sneered in disgust.

"Casey?" Bartowski asked as he used the table to push to his feet once more. He still sounded half asleep and Casey couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, Bartowski, it's me. Don't you have a bed at home?"

Bartowski's mouth worked like a landed goldfish and then he looked around in dismay, eyes scanning the mess of documents and pictures that have been liberally spread over the entire surface of the table.

He seemed to find what he was looking for because he—almost literally—leapt on it with an, "AHA!" and then held it up with that stupid grin on his face.

Casey rolled his eyes and said, "I don't have x-ray vision, Bartowski. You'll have to turn it around to share with the rest of the class."

Bartowski looked at the white back of the eight-by-ten and then flipped it around with a stammered apology.

Casey's eyes immediately locked on the picture and he was only half listening to Bartowski's babbled explanation of what he was doing when he flashed.

Casey couldn't care less. He just wanted to know where and his barked demand was quickly answered.

"So..." Bartowski said, sounding so young and hopeful, "this is good, right? I mean, obviously he isn't, he's a terrorist, and if he's here in America he might be planning something very, very bad, but me spotting him, that's good, right?"

Casey looked at Bartowski and wanted to tell him to go home and get some actual sleep, but he knew that the odds of that happening now were pretty slim. If they tried to leave him behind, he'd just follow them to the scene anyway and potentially screw it all up.

Besides, Casey had been hoping for a chance at this fucker for a long time, a hope he'd abandoned when he was assigned to Operation: Babysitter. So he was feeling generous and maybe—just maybe—they could keep Bartowski out of more trouble if they kept him close.

"Call Walker. Tell her to be on the street in five minutes, we'll pick her up and brief her on the way."

Bartowski's face lit up like Santa just delivered him an Easter basket and a birthday cake along with his early Christmas presents.

Casey rolled his eyes and headed for the armory to dress out and load up on his favorite toys.

The dressing down for falling asleep would come after they've bagged and tagged one more terrorist cockroach.

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><p>If you enjoyed this, please drop me a line and tell me what about it made you happy. :) And I'll post more after I double-check it for errors.<p> 


	2. In the Van

Thanks for the lovely reviews and the numerous favorites and alerts!

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><p>2.<p>

Casey still couldn't believe they forgot the telescopic camera lens, but he was grateful all the same for the chance it gave him to get out of the van long enough to repress the urge to snap Bartowski's neck just to get some damn peace and quiet for five _fucking_ seconds.

Maybe Walker did it on purpose because she knew he'd want an excuse. She wasn't all that eager to leave and go get it, after all, despite it being an integral part of their surveillance of Louis Montparte's operation.

Although that didn't explain why when he got back Walker was nowhere to be seen and the asset they were responsible for was curled up in the back of the van fast asleep on a nest of flak vests and windbreakers with various official acronyms on the back.

"Hey!" Casey barked and slapped the foot nearest to him.

Mount Bartowski exploded with a shout of surprise and a hail of weather-resistant nylon.

Casey pulled the jacket that landed on his head off and threw it back at the blinking Bartowski who reflexively caught it and clutched it to his chest.

Well at least their work with catching potential explosives was taking hold, it seemed.

Casey climbed into the van and shut the doors, then stalked past Bartowski on the way to his chair.

"Where's Walker?"

"Um..." Bartowski gaped stupidly for a few seconds. "Bathroom?" he finally offered.

Casey rolled his eyes, replaced his headset, and keyed the mic. "Walker, what's your position?"

There was no response and Casey's eyes narrowed as he searched the monitors. Behind him, Bartowski had regained his feet and was now moving into his personal space to loom unmenacingly over his shoulder.

"I swear, she just left five minutes ago," he said, sounding increasingly worried.

He reached past Casey, ignoring the glare and snarl he got, and keyed the mic. "Sarah? Sarah, where are you? Come in please, uh, over?"

Casey slapped his hand and stared him down until he retreated to the other chair.

"I swear, Casey, we haven't seen anything at all from Louis' men. She should have been perfectly safe."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't been taking a cat-nap in the gear there, you would have remained in contact and been _sure_ she was safe. Now I have to go in there and—"

"_Chuck? Casey?_"

Bartowski's sigh of relief and exhaled prayer of gratitude were the first response to the hail.

Casey just turned back to the radio and keyed up again. "You all right? Bartowski was too busy getting beauty sleep to keep an eye on you," he said with one more glare for the kid who shrank back and looked like a puppy who'd left a mess on the rug and knew it was wrong, but wanted forgiveness anyway.

Casey rolled his eyes and cursed the day he was given the assignment to eliminate one Charles Bartowski—or, more specifically, the day that order was rescinded and replaced with one to keep him alive at all costs.

"_Well we've been doing late surveillance all week,_" Walker said, defending the kid. Of course. "_And then he's had early shifts at the Buy More. Give him a break, Casey. Not all of us are ex-Marines._"

"_None_ of us are ex-Marines," Casey replied. "There's no such thing as an 'ex-Marine' once you've been in, and you and Bartowski never were in."

"_Whatever, Casey. The point is, cut him some slack. I was just in the bathroom—like I told Chuck—and I wasn't alone. I wasn't going to be caught talking to myself in a bathroom stall._"

"Pretend you're on the phone."

"_Or I can just wait until I'm out of the bathroom and answer you then._"

The back doors of the van opened and she climbed inside and arched an eyebrow at Casey who curled a lip. "Fine. You don't mind him sleeping when he's supposed to be watching your six, that's your problem. But if I ever catch him sleeping while he's supposed to be watching mine..." He left the threat open and just glared at Bartowski.

Who audibly gulped and babbled that he would never do that and he valued his life too much, thanks.

"Great," Walker said with a falsely bright smile. "Now can we get back to the surveillance?"

Casey grunted and turned back to his radio while Bartowski vacated the seat for Walker and continued to talk and talk _and talk_ about how sorry he was and how he really didn't think and next time he would stay awake it was just that he'd had a long day...

Walker patted his head and held his paw and told him he was a good puppy and she wasn't mad about the rug, it was ugly anyway.

Casey plugged in and put on the sound-canceling headphones with a sneer.

If Louis didn't make a move tonight, he was calling up his old unit and going in there tomorrow, warrant or no warrant.

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><p>If you enjoyed this, please drop me a line and tell me what about it made you happy. :) I'll post more after I double-check it for errors.<p> 


	3. In the Buy More

Thanks for the lovely reviews and the numerous favorites and alerts!

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><p>3.<p>

It was a Monday morning and the store was closed for a full inventory. In most retail stores that would mean the employees were all there extra early, but this was the Buy More. Big Mike left last night in his fishing gear and put _Grimes_ in charge (Probably because he _was_ the assistant manager, but, Casey still can't quite believe that was a good idea.)

Grimes had given Big Mike half an hour to forget something and come back, then set the grapevine to work notifying everyone that they'd start at noon sharp.

Casey figured that gave him until two o'clock to get in, do some maintenance on the secret hatch down into Castle—which had been sticking lately—get his own inventory done and printed and on Big Mike's desk, and have plenty of time to be gone before any of his coworkers even showed up.

What he didn't expect was to find Bartowski curled up on the couch in the home theater display room.

One shoe was off, the other hung precariously from Chuck's toes. His tie was loose enough not to strangle him, but had gotten twisted around to his back. His shirt was half-untucked and there was a line of drool down the couch to a puddle that was soaking a dark spot into a disturbingly large section of carpet directly below his face.

The eviscerated remains of a pizza and an entire case of Mountain Dew lay scattered about like it had been the scene of a battle—which wasn't _that_ far off the mark if the gaming console, headset, and epilepsy-seizure inducing looped-scene on the TV were any indication.

Casey shut the TV off, kicked aside some of the aluminium corpses, and then bent down until his mouth was right next to Chuck's ear.

"_ON YOUR FEET, RECRUIT! THIS AIN'T SUMMER CAMP AND I AIN'T NO COUNSELOR!_"

He jerked back with a grin that was very nearly wiped off of his face by the right hook Chuck launched after rolling over with a yelp.

A look of surprised respect dragged the corners of his mouth down in an appraising frown, but he cleared it away before those big, brown, puppy eyes blinked open and stared in panic, trying to figure out what was going on.

Chuck pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around, as if trying to locate whoever had screamed in his ear.

"Casey?" he finally said. "What..." He frowned and squinted at the daylight coming through the front doors of the store and then checked his watch. "What time is it— Oh wow, really? Already?" He moved the watch away from and back toward his face as if that could change the numbers displayed.

Then he looked around in panic again. "Crap! The store! Oh Big Mike is gonna... kill... me?"

His brow furrowed in confusion as he realized they were the only two people present.

"Um," he said, and checked his watch. Again. "Did I miss something? Daylight Savings Time, or..."

"Obviously," Casey grunted, bending down to move the coffee table so he could get to the access to Castle. "Short version: Store's closed for inventory, Big Mike's out of town. Grimes is in charge. Everyone will be here this afternoon—or later—to do their inventory, and I need to fix this door so we're not trapped inside if there's a foothold situation in Castle."

"Oh. Okay," Chuck said, sinking back to the couch. He wiped a hand over his face and then dug a cheese ball out of his half-unbuttoned shirt with a grimace.

Casey just knelt and activated the mechanism to open the door.

Until he realized Chuck was staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Huh?" Chuck said intelligently. Casey rolled his eyes.

He was once again struck by the thought that they were _so_ lucky that this genius was the one holding all of their county's secrets in his head. They could only be luckier if it had been _Grimes_ instead.

"Oh. Sorry. I wasn't..." Chuck waved a hand. "Just thinking. Sorry."

Casey grunted as he took a socket wrench from his tool bag and started on the bolts holding the door in place.

Which, apparently in Chuckland, was an invitation to keep talking.

"I mean, really? _Morgan_? Don't get me wrong, the guy's my best friend but..." His face screwed up and he shook his head slowly. "Not the guy I'd think of first when it comes to counting large numbers of things and keeping track of them, you know?"

Casey grunted again, but this time in agreement. He swapped the wrench for a screwdriver and kept going.

"Not that I'd want to be put in charge instead." He huffed a laugh and gave Casey a crooked grin. "Can you imagine being put in charge of these people and expected to do something like an inventory? No wonder Big Mike ran for the hills. Or, well, _lake_, as the case may be."

Casey stopped for a moment of pure revulsion to wash through him, then shook it off and kept working.

"You know who would have been good for this job? Emmett. Well, he would have been a pain in the ass to work for, actually, but he probably would have had it done faster and more correctly than anyone else here in the store. Well, besides you, but," Chuck's face screwed up again, "somehow I think there would be more casualties if you were in charge. No offense."

"None taken," Casey said honestly. It was true at least. Back to the wrench.

"Yeah," Chuck said thoughtfully. "I wonder how he's doing in Alaska..."

Casey paused at that, a teeny, tiny nugget of guilt lodged deep in the back of his mind wiggling like a loose tooth. He firmly stomped it back into place and slammed the door shut again, returning to his bolts.

Chuck laughed. "Probably terrifying the polar bears into submission with threats of no ice machine in the break room if they don't sell enough portable heaters, right? Ah, Emmett." His tone was the fond one of a person who no longer had to work with an asshole and could be forgiving of their faults for that one reason.

Casey shook his head with a grunt and kept working.

The silence stretched for a few blessed minutes and Casey got the door off the hinges. He flipped it over and bent down to look at the electronic unit on the underside of the door, running a few quick diagnostic tests. It checked out fine which meant that the problem was elsewhere. Maybe in the hydraulics...

"I thought we had people who do this kind of thing," Chuck said.

"We do. But I had the time this morning and I do have hobbies besides shooting things on the range— Shut up, Bartowski," he added without even looking away to see that the kid's mouth was open and ready to comment on that.

"I was— I was just going to say that I didn't expect—"

Casey pulled back out of the hole and glared. "I _said_ shut up."

Chuck's mouth snapped closed.

Casey wiped some grease off of his hands and went digging into his tool bag for a hex wrench in the proper size.

"As I was saying, I have hobbies besides marksmanship and I like to make sure the equipment I'm depending on is in proper working order. Besides, it'll save the agency money—and with the way we keep having to buy you suits for undercover work, we need all the help we can get in that area," he added with a sneer and a disdainful look Chuck's way.

"Okay, that was _so_ not my fault. Sarah was the one that threw the wine at me!"

"Yeah, because you missed the fact that Mazlov's men were armed to the fucking teeth and we needed a distraction so I could plant the C-4 and create our _actual_ distraction get all of us out of there."

Chuck's mouth opened and his finger raised in protest, then shut again.

"Okay, but the time before that—"

Casey sighed and looked heavenward for strength.

"Bartowski," he snapped.

Chuck froze, mouth in a pucker making him look ridiculous. More so than usual.

"Why are you here? Don't you have an apartment to sleep in with all kinds of big shiny geeky toys?"

Chuck coughed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Weeeeeell..."

"Just spit it out. Did you sister boot your ass out for being too noisy while she and Woodcomb are trying to sleep?"

Chuck laughed awkwardly and twirled a finger. "Uh, flip that last part of the scenario and make it a self-imposed exile and you've got it."

Casey stopped and made a face of disgust.

"Yeah," Chuck said. "Tell me about it. Not to mention awkward—"

Casey held up a hand. "Stop talking. For the love of— Just stop. And go home. By now, I'm sure they're off at work and you can sleep in your own bed in peace and quiet." He growled that last word in case it wasn't clear what exactly _he_ was hoping to get from this deal.

"But..." Chuck looked around. "What time are we doing—"

The hand came up again. "If you go home right now and leave me alone, I'll make sure yours gets done." Then he frowned. "What do you even have to inventory anyway?"

"Customer computers. Repair parts. Tools. Expendables like canned air and solder—"

"Do your fellow Nerd Herders know where everything is?"

Chuck opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Tilted his head. "You know..."

Casey sighed. "Never mind. I'll figure it out myself. Just... Go." He made a shooing motion with his hand.

"I should clean up—" Chuck started, herding cans formerly filled with Mountain Dew together.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Casey said and stood up. He went to where Chuck was staring up at him in alarm, grabbed the younger man by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and began frog-marching him to the door, ignoring the yelps and protests.

He gave him a shove out onto the sales floor and then stepped back and shut the door, getting his final word in in the form of a glare.

Chuck rubbed at his neck, but turned and headed toward the front of the store, glancing over his shoulder every few moments until he disappeared.

Only when he was gone did Casey relax his vigil and return to the disassembled access to finish his task in peace and blessed fucking quiet.

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><p>If you enjoyed this, please drop me a line and tell me what about it made you happy. :) I'll post more after I double-check it for errors.<p> 


	4. In the Embassy

Whoops. Sorry about the wait, guys. NaNo and real life sort of took this last week hostage and Casey and Chuck didn't answer my calls for help so I had to figure it out on my own. -_-;

This one's short but hopefully it will be enough until I can get another chapter ready.

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><p>4.<p>

Casey paused for another overpaid idiot to take a glass from his tray and used the moment to check in on both of his partners.

Walker was chatting up the wife of the Australian ambassador and simultaneously eavesdropping on the son of the Turkish Ambassador. Good. At least she was on task.

Bartowski was...

Casey frowned when he realized he couldn't immediately see Chuck.

As soon as the guest walked away, glass in hand, Casey headed for the periphery of the room, lifting his tray high so he could inconspicuously talk into his wrist mic.

"Walker, I don't see Bartowski. You have a visual on him?"

He saw her laugh and turn away to sweep the room with a glance, playing with her earring to cover her response and talking through her smile.

"_I don't see him either. Who was he talking to last time you saw him?_"

"One of the waiters," Casey growled.

"_All right. I'll start making the rounds here in the ballroom. You check the hallways, men's room, kitchen, and other areas he could have wandered off into._"

"Copy that," Casey said and returned to the kitchen area to start his search and drop off his tray. He ignored the caterer who tried to give him another, muttered something about a bathroom break, and kept going.

Once the kitchen was cleared and no Chuck as found, he did indeed go to the head, but not for a pit stop. Chuck wasn't at any of the urinals and none of the shoes under the stalls were his either, so Casey washed his hands, nodded uncomfortably at a guest who stared at him, and then left again.

Casey was halfway through searching the hallways that lead away from the main ballroom to smaller private rooms where guests could chat in groups when he found him.

He was propped into the corner of a windowed alcove, mostly hidden behind the curtains, sleeping like a baby.

Or he was until Casey grabbed his jacket by the lapels and _yanked_ him back out into the hallway.

Chuck came awake with a "WAH!" and his hands gripped Casey's wrists and twisted, a move that was instinctive now, thanks to the upgrade to the Intersect.

He was already free of Casey and stepping back into a beginning kata—feet spread and balanced, hands up and firm—when he truly became aware of his surroundings and who was facing him down.

He relaxed and took a more natural standing pose, adjusting his bow tie in a show of nerves. "Oh. It's you." Then his voice took on a whining protest and he said, "Casey! What was that for? I was—"

"Sleeping. I saw. Do you think maybe next time you could hold off on the cat naps until _after_ we figure out which of these Ambassadors is stealing and selling our secrets to Iran?"

Chuck gave him a wounded look, but Sarah interrupted just then.

"_Casey, I haven't seen him anywhere. Have you—_"

"Yeah, I found him, " Casey replied. "Sleeping on the job. _Again_."

Chuck opened his mouth wide in shock, brow furrowing in defensive anger, but Casey put up a hand. "Save it. I don't care. Just get back out there and see if you _flash_ already."

He keyed the mic up one last time and added, "And Walker? Stop keeping him up all night before a mission, would you?"

He left then, ignoring Chuck's blush and protests, muttering under his breath about remembering why he hated working with couples.


	5. In Castle Again

5.

"Where's Chuck?" Sarah asked as she followed Casey down the stairs into Castle.

"He should already be here. I sent him down ten minutes ago before he could be conned into another repair job by Lester and Jeff," he explained with a sneer. He really hated those morons. They were occasionally useful, but, as a general rule, they were more trouble than they were worth. Especially when they tried to monopolize Chuck's time by pawning all the hard repair jobs off on him and keeping the easy ones for themselves.

"I escorted him to the entrance to Castle myself so I know he's—" Casey's jaw clenched as his lips pressed into a straight line. "Down here."

They'd stopped as soon as they could see Chuck's sleeping form hunched over the table, his shoulders tense, face scrunched in a frown.

"Oh," Sarah said and Casey knew what she was going to say before she even said it. Which is why he kept moving toward their snoozing compatriot. "He's been staying late to try and find his mom. Let's just let him—"

"WAKE UP!" Casey shouted and slapped the table with an open palm.

"WOGIBOGAMANIE!" Chuck responded and jerked to the left away from Casey. He hit the floor and rolled, coming up ready to attack on the other side, the gun he'd had at his side now in his hands and aimed at Casey.

Who froze at the sight of the weapon pointed his way. Damn. How had he not seen that the kid was armed?

And, more importantly, _why_ was he armed if he was taking a nap? That was behavior Casey expected from the Chuck of four years ago, possibly two. Not the Chuck of the present who would make a damn fine spy with or without the Intersect in his head.

Not that Casey was going to be sharing that tidbit with him at any time in the foreseeable future.

"Chuck," Sarah said from the stairs, also frozen. "It's us."

By the time she said that, though, Chuck had woken up enough to recognize them and was already safing and lowering his weapon.

"I am _so_ sorry. I didn't—" Chuck stopped and looked away, running a hand through his hair. Sarah took the opportunity to get closer and went to his side, lacing her fingers with his as she looked him over in concern.

Kid did look like shit, even Casey could agree. His skin was pale and his eyes were bloodshot with great black bags ringing them. He looked like he'd lost a fistfight—and Casey knew that he hadn't done that in months.

Still, lack of sleep was no excuse for being an idiot when it came to weapons.

"Didn't what?" Casey asked. "Didn't mean to fall asleep with a gun in your hand? I sure as hell hope not." Sarah glared at him, but Casey ignored her. This wasn't about him being a jackass, this was a matter of safety for all of them and it was unacceptable.

Chuck looked at the weapon in question and holstered it. "I'm really, _really_ sorry about that. I was just..." He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dug his fingers into his eyes. "I don't know."

Then he looked around, blinking wide. "Isn't there supposed to be a briefing starting right about now or did I just dream—"

In a case of perfect timing—as usual—the communications display came to life right then, showing General Beckman on screen.

"Team Bartowski. Good you're all here." She paused. "Or not. Where is Agent—"

"I'm here!" Grimes called as he rattled down the stairs. "Sorry. I'm here. Hi!" he said with a grin for his fellow agents. Then he sobered and nodded to the screen. "General."

"Thank you for joining us, Agent Grimes," she acknowledged dryly. "You mission this week is—"

"Sorry to interrupt, General," Casey said, "but we're going to have to respectfully request that this mission be reassigned."

Everyone in Castle stared at him.

"And why is that, Colonel?" Beckman just asked, narrowed eyes telling him she knew that it had to be important for _him_ of all people to ask for it.

"With all due respect, General, we need some down time. We've been running a lot of missions lately, and while I know that's part of having the Intersect on our team..." He gave her a one-shouldered shrug and a half smile. "Even human computers need to sleep, ma'am."

She pursed her lips and regarded all of them carefully.

Chuck was the worst off as far as appearances went, but they all looked a little ragged. Casey could have kept going as long as he was needed, but his team couldn't and that meant they were all in danger. Exhausted soldiers were dead soldiers and the same applied to spies who did the kind of work they did.

She nodded. "Very well. I'm putting you on one week stand down—including your Buy More duties. Get some sleep and report back here on Monday at eight am sharp."

Everyone was watching her except Casey who was paying attention to his teammates in his peripheral vision. Each one relaxed a little bit, relief in their eyes and their faces and their postures.

Beckman ended the call and the screen went black.

All eyes again went to Casey.

Sarah smiled and said, "Casey—"

"Save it. I don't need you falling asleep when you're supposed to be paying attention to your surroundings."

"John—" Grimes started.

Casey just snarled at him and Grimes made an excuse about needing to switch schedules and left.

Casey knew what was inevitably coming next and looked to Chuck.

"Case—"

"If I ever catch you sleeping with a gun in your hand again, I _will_ report it to the general and you _will_ lose your weapons certification and with it your field readiness. And then I'll kick your ass into next month. Are we clear?"

Chuck just nodded, wide-eyed. "Very clear. As crystal and class and diamonds and— and—"

Casey walked away.

He might be able to keep going, but he also knew the value of taking a chance to sleep when it came.

And if it meant he didn't have to see any of these clowns for a week... Well, that was just a reward for being a loyal teammate, now wasn't it?


	6. In Castle for the Last Time

+1

Casey's boots hit the floor with a loud thump and he paused for a moment to grunt and roll his shoulder. Life was so much easier when you had an army of CIA drones to cart all the crap into and out of a base.

But they didn't have that anymore, thanks to Agent Decker and his... almost effective termination of Team Bartowski.

Okay, so the official Team Bartowski HAD been terminated from the CIA's employment. But they hadn't been _terminated_ like they really should have been, thanks to the General and Chuck's little flash drive of things no one wanted on CNN. Which meant—along with the very generous wedding present from the former Alexei and Vivian Volkoff—that they were still able to do what they did best: Be spies.

Just... slightly less sanctioned ones now. Still, it wasn't like most CIA or NSA operations were really sanctioned anyway.

The downside was that they didn't have the federal government budget for running their operation. And, given the number of times they were shot at on a weekly basis, they'd decided to buy ammo and weapons instead of hiring people to do mundane tasks like move things around.

Which meant they had to do it all themselves. Just him and Sarah and Chuck and Morgan.

Well, mostly Sarah and Casey, and Sarah was at home right now watching her niece while Devon and Ellie both worked the night shift.

Chuck was exempt from moving because he was—

Casey stopped and grunted when he passed the dojo and found Chuck passed out in the middle of the floor, splayed like he'd been dropped there from a punch

He'd have been worried that Chuck had been attacked but, 1. No one knew they were here. As far as the CIA was concerned, this part of the building had been filled in with cement—another goodbye gift from General Beckman, near as they could tell.

And 2. Chuck was snoring. _Loudly_.

How he didn't wake himself up, Casey didn't know. He just shook his head with a snort of amusement and kept walking.

He wasn't at all surprised to see the co-leader of their little freelance espionage company asleep in the middle of the floor. Frankly, he was more surprised that it had taken this long for him to drop like that.

Because while Casey and Sarah—with a little help from Devon and Ellie—had been moving boxes and cases and trunks and containers, Chuck had been busy with Morgan, teaching him how to use the Intersect.

Casey didn't envy him that task even a little bit. Give him some good old fashioned grunt work over making a super spy out of Grimes any day.

Training Chuck to be a super spy had been hard. Training Morgan to be a _normal_ spy had been almost beyond Casey's skills. Training Morgan to be the Intersect as good as Chuck had been? Casey grunted.

He thought their time would be better spent trying to figure out how to get it back into Chuck, but so far that plan was dead in the water and they couldn't wait forever to start taking jobs or they'd run out of money to even turn the lights on before they ever actually got started.

So Chuck had been devoting his every spare moment between various technical and administrative tasks that only he could do to working with Morgan.

And it appeared that it had finally caught up with him.

Casey deposited his load in the storage room where it would wait to be sorted, then went next door and rifled through a box or two until he found what he was looking for. He returned to the dojo and tilted his head, staring at Chuck.

He looked younger in his sleep. Like the last four years were just a bad dream and he was still that idealistic, geeky kid fixing computers and wasting his life at the Buy More.

Then again, in many ways he _was_ still that idealistic, geeky kid fixing computers at the Buy More. He'd just found a, well, almost a hobby really, that had given his life purpose and meaning. It had demanded a high price of him, too, but then all truly worthwhile things in life did.

Casey bent and slid his fingers under Chuck's head, lifting it just high enough that he could get the pillow underneath it, then carefully set it down. Chuck didn't so much as twitch. A quick shake of the blanket and it floated down over the prone form of Charles Carmichael of Carmichael Industries, AKA Chuck Bartowski of the Buy More.

Chuck rolled over slightly, tangling himself in the blankets and looking even more like a kid.

With a smile and a shake of his head, Casey left, turning out all but one of the low lights in the room, then carefully shut the door and headed out, dialing Sarah on his cell as he exited the building.

With all the wrongs he'd righted over the last four years, the terrorists and dictators and other assorted criminals he'd stopped, Chuck had definitely earned one night of rest.

Besides, tomorrow was another day of teaching Morgan how not to kick himself in the balls when he tried to activate the Intersect in defense mode. Sleep was his only refuge and Casey would be damned if he'd take that away from him.

* * *

><p>It's been fun, my lovelies! Please leave me one last note if you liked it and thanks for reading!<p>

Maja


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